


Honeysuckle

by LostinFic



Category: Broadchurch, Secret Diary of a Call Girl (TV)
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Teninch Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-28 17:34:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3863398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostinFic/pseuds/LostinFic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PWP in which he really shouldn’t, but he does anyways because what’s the point of having a new lease on life if he can’t shag the sexiest woman he’s ever met?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honeysuckle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [foxmoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxmoon/gifts).



It was autumn. A sky infinitely white and colours in the trees that reminded him of the living room in his childhood home. It’d been raining for five days straight, and Hardy wasn’t usually one to complain about the weather, but this was just bloody depressing. But Hannah Baxter, she walked in like October didn’t affect her, bright July sun lingered on her skin, days at the beach echoed in her laugh. Raindrops would avoid her if they could. For all his gloominess, Hardy was attracted to her.

 

It was her legs he noticed first— how could he not in that dress? She looked strong, steady, strolling in with a confident gait despite her very high heels. He was momentarily distracted by a mental image of those legs wrapping around his hips and the subsequent spike of arousal up his spine. The first of many to come.

 

The more time he spent with her, the more such thoughts crowded his mind: her loose curls fawned out on a pillow, her lush lip between his teeth, her breasts filling his palms. It kept him awake at night.

 

And to say he thought he had her all figured out before even meeting her: she was an escort and the ex-girlfriend of a white-collar criminal, Jonas Ilasco. What more could there be to her? She’d be either too dumb to know anything about his activities, or dumb enough to tell the police everything.

 

She was neither.

 

“Not what you expected,” she’d said with a smirk, making him feel out of his depths.

 

To be honest, he wasn’t the only one with prejudices. When she’d received his call, she’d rolled her eyes, expecting another power-tripping tool.

 

She didn’t want to believe what he was saying about Jonas at first— he may be an ex but they’d separated in good terms and he was still dear to her— so she kept her mouth shut. But then he displayed the evidence they had gathered against him, some dating back five years: financial schemes that had left lower-class families without a penny. D.I. Hardy must have noticed the hurt in her eyes because his features softened and his speech lost its angry edge. She liked him better after that.

 

So, they met a few times during which he tried to figure out what she knew, and she tried to learn as much as she could from him. And conversations turned into battles of wit, inevitably crossing the line into flirting territory. He let her charm him, spin a web around his body. He let her distract him from the task, enjoying the banter and teasing smiles far more than the investigation— the financial crimes unit was only a notch above teaching in terms of thrill. But this, this cat-and-mouse with her, now that was something that got his heart pumping. It gave him something to look forward to. He spent far more time with her then he should have considering all the other leads they had, but he left those to his D.S.

 

It was delusional to think he had a chance with her, she shone too bright for him, but those dreams nourished his soul.

 

Today was different. She came of her own volition.

 

“Ms. Baxter is here to see you, Sir,” said a PC calling from the first floor.

“Oh ok, I didn’t— Let her come up.”

 

Hardy put on his jacket, straightened his tie and ran a hand through his hair. Casually, he leaned against the door jamb and stared at the elevator doors waiting for her to appear. When she walked in, it was always a spectacular sight, like a scene from a movie, the sway of her hips in slow motion.

 

Today was different.

 

There was no skirt shifting around her thighs or tempting shade of red on her lips. She wore jeans and a simple flowy camisole, wisps of hair falling from a messy bun. She looked real. Attainable. Now he was nervous.

 

“I’m ready to talk,” she said solemnly, “I’ll tell you everything I know.”

 

He guided her to the interrogation room.

 

“Where do you want to start?” he asked.

 

She let the barriers fall and revealed what she knew: the places her ex-boyfriend had been to, the people he worked with, although she’d never suspected it was illegal. She betrayed the man who had betrayed her: An eye for an eye, a heart for a heart. Sunshine bled out of her. She hid it all behind a straight back and a stiff chin.

 

He admired her honesty, her courage, he’d met too few people with these qualities over the last years.

 

They’d been in the interrogation for 45 minutes and he was starting to lose track of the conversation. She wore several dainty gold chains around her neck, and she fiddled with them, dragging them back and forth across her collarbone. It was mesmerising.

 

“Detective?”

“Erm, sorry,” he tugged on his ear. “You were saying, about the second office?”

“That was a while back.”

“Right, I just…”

“Good thing you’re recording all this, then.”

 

She smiled, but it was weak. Not the flirtatious smirk or wide grin of their previous encounters.

 

He made himself focus by writing down notes in his pad. She’d already said everything she knew, but she kept on talking, revealing her worries. Lately, she’d had a hard time sleeping as she feared her ex-boyfriend’s less honourable friends might come after her for collaborating with the police.

 

The interrogation turned into a heartfelt conversation.

 

“No wonder he was okay with my job,” she said bitterly.

“Why do you say that?”

“He’s a criminal.”

“So?” he challenged her. “Your job may not be the purest one, but you don’t rob anyone, you don’t abuse anyone’s trust.”

 

Hannah nodded weakly.

 

“I’ve never been lucky in love, don’t know why I still try.” She laughed but it was humourless. It saddened him, made him want to promise her things. “What about you?”

 

He shrugged. It’s true that the only woman he’d ever loved had betrayed him, but she’d loved him back for a decade before that.

 

“My luck changed,” he answered.

 

As she talked, she leaned towards Hardy, and he mirrored her pose, resting forward on his arms. Their hands were on the table with barely an inch between them. He felt the heat radiating off her skin, he smelled her honeysuckle fragrance, he heard the soft wet noise of her lips parting, and all of it culminated in a tight pressure building low in his abdomen.

 

They both grew silent, staring at that proximity. At that tiny gap they longed to bridge. He clasped his hands together, so they wouldn’t do anything they shouldn’t.

 

She brushed her fingertips against his knuckles. It could have passed for an accident, hadn’t she been looking at him through her eyelashes at the same time. She bit her bottom lip and repeated the movement. He untwined his fingers and laid his hands palms up on the table. He thought of preys lying on their backs, throats bared. She dragged her nails along the lifelines etched in his skin. The prickling sensation traveled up his arms to the nape of his neck, making him lower his head.

 

When her fingers started slipping out of his reach, he clasped his hands around them. She smiled at him softly, more genuinely than she ever had. He dared hope that he’d kept her up at night too.

 

“Let’s go back to your office,” she said.

 

He reluctantly let go of her and guided her out of the interrogation room with a hand on the small of her back. Once they’d stepped outside, reality caught up with them like a chilly gust of wind.

 

She stood in the center of his office, fiddling with the hem of her top. He didn’t want her to leave, but didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t be completely unprofessional.

 

“Are we done now?” she asked.

“I think we have everything we need from you. Thank you for your collaboration,” he said, very business-like.

 

She scoffed and her weary expression called forth a comforting gesture. He put a hand on her shoulder, rubbing a thumb over the thin strap of her camisole.

 

“Will he go to prison?” she asked in a thin voice.

“Dunno, it’s up to the judge, hard to tell with non-violent crimes.”

 

She tucked her chin in her shoulder, the one where his hand still was, and he felt her breath on his fingertips. He didn’t remove his hand as fast as he should have.

 

“Tea?” he offered.

“Yes!”

 

The kettle took forever to boil. He was anxious to get back to her, and he tried to think of ways to make her stay.

 

“ _She’s a key witness, she’s vulnerable right now, it would be taking advantage of her_ ,” he told himself.

 

He wasn’t supposed to be gone for long, but he met DS Singh in the corridor, he was a chatty one. The tea turned cold. He made two other cups, all the while worrying that she might have left. She hadn’t. Quite the opposite, she’d settled on his couch and had fallen asleep with his jacket as a makeshift pillow.

 

It was only late afternoon, but the interrogation had taken a toll on her. He placed the two mugs on his desk. Shifting from one foot to the other, he wondered what to do. She made a soft little noise and burrowed further in the cushions, and he couldn’t bring himself to wake her up.

 

He carefully closed his office door and sat behind his desk.

 

He filled paperwork for the rest of the day. The repetitious work paired with her steady breathing put him in a trance. He’d get lost in the rise and fall of her chest, in her parted lips or in that spot of skin where her camisole had bunched up.

 

It was way past the end of his shift when she stirred awake. She stretched languidly, arching her back off the couch with her eyes still closed. When she finally took in her surroundings, she was disoriented.

 

Hardy was at her side immediately, he sat down on his haunches next to the sofa.

 

“Hannah, you’re in my office.”

 

A big sleepy smile spread across her lips.

 

“You’re here.”

 

She took his hand, his whole arm actually, and cradled it like a child would a teddy bear. Resting her cheek on his hand, she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep again.

 

Hardy stayed by her side, dumbfounded. He was starting to get pins and needles in his legs, but his arm was tucked between her breasts. He shifted to ease his legs, and let his mind wander. A while later, a groan from Hannah pulled him out of it. Her eyelids fluttered as she frowned. Alec gently brushed her hair away from her face, and her grip on his arm loosened. Carefully, he extricated his limb from her hold, but she caught him back. She was holding his hand just over her midsection, where her camisole had bunched up. He could hardly tell the difference between the silk of her top and her soft skin. He could have easily slipped out of her grasp but he had no desire to.

 

When Alec tore his eyes off her naked abdomen, he realized that she was wide awake now. Her hazel eyes were clear and intent on him. He held her gaze, the next step was up to her. His tie dangled awkwardly above her, she took hold of it with her free hand and bit her bottom lip. Experimentally, he stroked the patch of skin he was in contact with.

 

“Would you do me a favour?” she whispered.

“Yes,” he replied too quickly.

“Could you move your hand lower please?”

 

He blinked a few time, startled by her request. He obeyed, his heart racing as he dragged his fingers down her midsection to rest just under her navel. He could feel her every breath under his palm. Gooseflesh spread across her skin, up her torso, making her nipples pucker under the thin silk. Emboldened by her physical response, he caressed her taut stomach. He wondered if his eyes were as glazed over as hers. She pulled on his tie, bringing his face closer to hers.

 

“Lower,” she demanded, voice hoarse.

 

He swallowed thickly and moved his hand until he met the waistband of her jeans. There was just enough of a gap between her hipbones to slip half of his fingers. He stilled. She bucked her hips, and he felt the fabric of her underwear, the contact sent a jolt through him.

 

“I can’t, not here…”

“I want you to.”

 

She put her hand over his, pressing it into her flesh with a frustrated moan. His forehead fell to her shoulder, eyes shut tight. His head swam with arousal, he was straining against his pants, every inch of his flesh called out for her, but this was highly unethical.

 

“Hardy...”

 

She sought his mouth. Whatever words she used to plead, he felt the pronunciation against his lips more than he heard them. The kiss was inevitable. As if the only air available was her breath, he kissed her. A drowning man’s salvation. Yet he was pulled under deeper and deeper.

 

His fingers dug in her flesh, squeezing further into her jeans, but not quite reaching her center. She moaned as he bit her bottom lip. His mouth travelled lower, nibbling along her jaw, sucking down her neck, licking the collarbone he’d admired earlier. She scratched his scalp, holding his head down to her skin.

 

A loud noise outside his office made him snap out of it. His head jerked up, and he withdrew his hand quickly.  His heart hammered in his chest, pumping adrenaline through his system. He looked through the window above the couch, there was no one, but anyone could have seen them before. He looked down at Hannah, her lips were swollen, her clothes and hair were dishevelled.

 

“Fuck. I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be,” she said, straightening her top.

“You’re a witness, I— I shouldn’t have.”

 

He sat back on his heels and ran a hand through his hair. She sat up, trying to regain some countenance.

 

“It’s alright,” she reassured him, gently stroking his cheek, “When can we..?”

“When the trial ends.”

 

It could take months, even a year, there were more urgent crimes to prosecute. Hardy stood up, stretching his cramped legs before sitting down next to her on the couch. She giggled at his erection still straining against his trousers.

 

“You’re one hell of a woman.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, I’m still all wired up,” she said, running a hand up and down her forearm. “Can I get a cuddle?”

 

He put an arm around her shoulders and pressed his lips to the top of her head.

 

 

As soon as he got home, he took a shower. He let the water cascade over his body and soak his hair. Not for the first time, he thought of her as he jerked off. Only this time, the images in his mind were much more vivid, and it did nothing to appease his craving. Her taste and smell still filled his sense afterwards, stirring his lust.

 

It would be easy to find her home address. He’d show up and ravish her against the door. It was only marginally better than doing it in his office.

 

The next day, he asked to be removed from the case against Jonas.

“D.S. Sighn did most of the work anyway,” he explained to his superior.

 

Closing the Sandbrook case and being relegated to the financial crimes brigade had left a void in his life, and he hadn’t yearned for anything since then. He’d been mindlessly going through the motion. But now he had something to look forward to: he wanted Hannah, selfishly, irrationally. When was the last time he’d done something only for himself? What was the point of having a new lease on life if he couldn’t fuck the sexiest woman he’d ever met? One night with her would be better than any hypothetical promotion the chief super dangled in front of him.

 

Of course, being removed from the case didn’t make parking his car in front of her house much more ethical.

 

The lights were on, and he could see her silhouette through the sheer curtains. Now that he was here, he was riddled with doubt. He felt like a creep. He was a creep. 

 

She was standing in front of the ground floor window, and he wondered if she’d seen him. She slowly pulled on the ties at her waist, letting her robe fall open and slide off her. 

 

Hardy looked at the other side of the street, wondering if this display was meant for someone else. There was no one else in sight, the house in front was empty. Courage surged through him, and he cut the engine, ready to leave the car. But she closed the lights and disappeared from the window. He hesitated, mind reeling with possibilities.

 

Then the front door opened.

 

Hardy hurried out of the vehicle, crossing her front lawn with long strides. She was waiting for him inside in a black chemise.

“Detective? What are you doing here?” she asked coyly, trailing a finger along the edge of her cleavage.

She had a way of making the most innocent question sound positively filthy.

“Routine stuff, checking up on you,” he replied, already tugging at the knot of his tie.

“Mmhmm, and does this checking up involve shagging?”

“It’s not part of a normal procedure, but I can make an exception for you.”

“Well, come in then.”

 

He slammed the door shut, and the next instant he was pulling her to him, crushing his lips against hers.

 

She tasted of toothpaste, her skin and hair were still damp, fragrant with soap. He rejoiced at the thought of making her dirty again, sweat and saliva and come. He dragged his lips down her neck, along her collarbone, to her breast, to bite a nipple through the fabric. He caressed her thighs heavily, fingers digging in her flesh, up and under the chemise. He kneaded her bum, pulling her closer to press against his crotch.

 

She made no attempt to push him back. If anything, she welcomed his eagerness. Her moans spurred him on, and he finally dipped a finger where she’d wanted him the day before. She bucked into his hand, her teeth at his neck. She struggled to open his belt and trousers. When her fingers stroked his flesh, he gasped and shivered. He looked between them and couldn’t take his eyes off her hand moving lithely up and down his cock, her thumb swirling over the head.

 

She made a keening sound in the back of her throat, reminding him of her pressing need. Her pelvic muscles clenched, gushing more wetness over his fingers.

 

“Fuck!”

 

He hiked her up on the small table by the door and thrust in her at once. No finesse, only madness. Her legs wrapped tightly around his hips, keeping him fully sheathed in. For the first time since his arrival, they looked into each other’s eyes without any sort of pretense. Twin ragged breaths passed their lips.

 

“Hi,” he whispered.

 

She laughed softly and rested her forehead against his. His cock pulsed in her, begging for relief, but he took his time to brush a strand of hair behind her ear, to caress her jaw, and to kiss her tenderly. She sighed contentedly, and only then did her start moving. A lazy pace at first, but his earlier fire quickly flared again, and when he felt her nails through his shirt, nothing could hold him back.

 

He pounded into her and she threw her head back, knocking the mirror on the wall behind her. He caught his reflection, his face was red and sweaty. He buried it in her cleavage, sucking and nipping at the skin, pushing the piece of clothing away with his nose and teeth.

 

He wouldn’t last long at this pace, he placed his hand where they were joined and he rubbed tight circles with his thumb over her clit. Hannah hiked her thighs higher on his hips, canting her pelvis for better access. She slipped her hands under his shirt and nuzzled his neck, seeking more skin contact.

 

“Oh god! Yes! Yes!”

 

And honestly, it was just so fucking exhilarating to lose himself in her like that. He never wanted it to end. With that in mind, he pulled out of her. Hannah looked disconcerted, eyes wide with shock.

 

“But! Wha—“

 

He shut her up with a kiss and replaced his cock with his fingers, curving them upwards, his thumb still at her clit.

 

“Any objections?” he asked with a smirk.

“No, I’m good— Aah! Keep going.”

 

She cursed, clutching his shirt in her fists. They looked down, mesmerized by the rhythm of his fingers plunging in and out of her and by the obscene wet sound it produced.

 

He focused on her pleasure. As it built higher and higher, her back arched, her body increasingly strained and wired up. And then it started, her toes curled, her calves quivered, the tremors traveled up her thighs to her core and she shattered, the pleasurable spasms spreading through her whole lower abdomen.

 

He licked his fingers clean, just for the decadence of it, and she stared at his mouth, then at his cock, still hard and glistening with her juices.

 

“Where’s your bedroom?” he asked, toeing off his shoes and stepping out of his trousers.

“I like how you think,” she said with a smirk.

 

She stood on wobbly legs and guided him by the hand up the stairs.

 

Once in her bedroom, she pushed him to sit on the bed, regaining some control over the encounter. She sat astride him and removed what was left of their clothes. Finally, they were completely skin to skin, they caressed each other’s chest and back. She’d barely had time to recover that she was kissing him again with uncompromising need. 

 

“Why don’t you lie back and let me do the work this time?” Hannah suggested.

“I supposed I could do that, I have been exerting myself,” he said with a chuckle. “Are you, erm, good to go again?”

“I’m always good to go.”

 

His smile faded, he’d momentarily forgotten about her job, it’s not why he’d come her.

 

“No, I mean, really.”

“Really,” she said, touched by his concern.

 

As she kissed him, she pushed him to lay down on the bed. With his cock nestled between her folds, she glided over him, spreading her wetness and rubbing her clit against the engorged head. The languid movements of her body— the undulation of her waist, the light sway of her breasts— were just as arousing as the intimate contact. Moving faster, she braced herself on his shoulders, hair falling down and eyes shut in pleasure. He had a moment of surreal realization, almost an out-of-body experience: this was really happening. With a hand on the back of her neck, he pulled her down to him, growling through an urgent kiss.

 

Hannah raised her hips and guided his cock, and he held his breath as she sank down on him. She picked up where they’d left off with a frenetic pace. Her nails left little crescents on his chest and his teeth marked her flawless skin. He grabbed her hips tightly, guiding her movements as he tried to meet her thrusts. Pleasure coiled inside of him, already his toes were curling.  _Not yet._

 

“Are you—?”

“Almost,” she whimpered.

 

She angled her hips differently, leaning back so he’d reach a better spot inside of her. Her head fell back with a throaty moan. The image of her riding him like this, the arousal on her face drove him further. Clumsy with lust, he tried to help her along, squeezing her breasts and touching her where they were joined. A primal desire to consume all of her surged in him. He couldn’t get enough of her taste and moans. It was too much yet never enough.

 

Swiftly, he rolled over her, and drove into her, holding her as close as he could. She wrapped her arms even tighter around him. They were both desperate, holding on to fall over the edge together.

 

At the first sign of her orgasm, he stopped holding back and pleasure erupted inside him. He collapsed on her, breathing heavily.

 

This was the best worst decision of his career.

 

They resettled under the sheets, Hannah’s head resting on his chest. He didn’t know what to say, only reckless declarations came to mind.

 

“If I promise not to say anything, can we do this again?” Hannah asked.

“Why don’t you sleep on it,” he replied, “you might change your mind.”

She propped herself up on her elbow and looked squarely at him.

 “And if I don’t?”

“Then you call and I’ll come.”

“You might as well not leave,” she said, putting a leg over his.

“Alright. Do I get breakfast included?”

 She chuckled and slapped his chest playfully.

 “Maybe, if you make sure I wake up in a good mood.”

“I think I can make that happen.”

 


End file.
